Turning Blues To Black
by Now With More Fiber
Summary: Jet & Faye, but more of a character piece than a romance story. This fic starts after Episode 24 and goes about a week past the end of the series. Finished at last on New Year's Eve. Please read & (hopefully) enjoy, fellow Jet fans.
1. Coming Home

**Turning Blues to Black  
by Now With More Fiber**

**Chapter 1: Coming Home**

"Jet... the girls are gone again."  
Spike's words were all it took for his will and energy to leave him. He let out a deep sigh, and his body slumped as if in defeat.  
Somehow, though, he had known it would come to this. When Faye had last returned to the ship, her eyes had changed; she had looked at him with those new eyes, a shade of green mixed from sorrow, resignation, and patience. The last time he'd seen that change in a woman's eyes, it was the look she gave him just before she was gone.

*****

Faye could feel the hard ground cooling underneath her skin as dusk gathered. A light wind whispered across the barren hilltop where her house had once stood, scattering dust and torn leaves. Soft strands of hair brushed against her face as she stared at the reddening sky.  
_So this is home._ She wanted to laugh - or cry, or both - but lacked the strength. Her body was weightless and empty. _It looks like I'm a gypsy again._  
But even gypsies had traveling companions.   
She turned onto her side, and let the breeze run its chill fingers over her back.

*****

Spike sat in silence, absentmindedly twirling the stem of a pinwheel between his fingers. _Children and animals... they know where they should be, and they simply go there. Why is it taking me so long to do the same...? Maybe, as people collect more memories, they become bogged down and lose their sense of direction._  
_But Faye's just as directionless as me, even without her memory. What on earth is **she** trying to find?_  
His thoughts were interrupted by the metallic ring of Jet's footsteps as he came down the hall into the livingroom. Even the sound of his boots on the floor conveyed aim and determination. Thump. Thump. His feet landed heavily on the short flight of stairs as he descended and strode past Spike to pick up a large canvas coat.   
"I'm going out for a while," he stated flatly as he slipped his metal arm into one of the sleeves, "...going to go get some fresh air before it gets too cold."  
Spike grunted noncommittally in response, gazing at the pinwheel, spinning it slowly with one finger. He guided it through one revolution, two, three... Looking up, he saw that Jet's face was hard and drawn, and he avoided his eyes. Another turn of the pinwheel; the sound of canvas and paper shifting, and Spike was alone in the room again.  
The ship hummed and creaked as Jet opened the hangar bay doors and readied the Hammerhead for takeoff.  
_Jet, when someone finds their wings, you can't stop them from flying, no matter how hard you try. You know that, right?_  
He spun the pinwheel around one last time, then stood.  


*****

Jet remembered complaining that nothing good came from Earth any more. He'd forgotten about the sunsets.   
The sky was slashed with blood red and blazing orange as the sun touched the edge of the hills by the bay. On the eastern horizon, a soft purple haze lay beneath the first of the evening's stars.   
He flew low and slow, trying to believe he was out for pleasure. His eyes kept falling to the land, scanning it carefully... Had this been Mars, he surely would have worried about disrupting traffic or bothering the citizenry.  
But what sort of people wandered this ghost of a city, while darkness snaked its cold fingers down the streets? Here and there, he spied deep indentions in the earth where small meteors had eaten away at the landscape. Most had taken bites out of streets or parks, but here and there was a house - or group of houses - that had been more unfortunate.  
Shadows grew longer and softer; hollow windows filled with dim purple. The sky overhead had become a deep magenta, banded in the west with pink and silver grey. Soon he might find himself trying to navigate by starlight.  
His bulky ship turned, hovering over a ruined neighborhood that had once been quite affluent. He spotted overgrown gardens; rusted luxury cars, caved-in tile roofs and wide circular driveways. Swinging the Hammerhead around in a wide arc, he surveyed the ruin in the same manner he might have a destroyed Greek temple. _How soon material wealth vanishes. Human folly destroyed by more human folly._

There, in the middle of a narrow street, was Faye's Redtail. The last rays of the evening sun slid over the clear surface of the empty monopod. _She can't be far..._

His ice-blue eyes focused on a desolate hilltop; across the crumbling skeleton of a mansion; across groaning iron gates; across a prone form, curled inside a rectangle carefully etched in the dirt.  
He hesitated only a moment before deploying his landing gear.

_*****_

**To be continued in Chapter 2**

**Notes from the whole grain author:**  
Yay, the beginning of a multi-chapter fic like you guys asked for. The only reason I didn't make the last 2 multis was because they were so far apart in theme/feel & time. This one takes place over episodes 24-26 (so you know what _that_ means ;_;).  
  
NOTES:  
* Earth in 2071 would probably have some spectactular sunsets, what with all the dust being kicked into the lower atmosphere by the meteorites and all. Don't you think so?   
What's that? I'm a detail freak? ... Well ... Yeah.  



	2. A Ghost of Comfort

**Turning Blues to Black  
by Now With More Fiber**

**Chapter 2: A Ghost of Comfort**

_Zzzzzip._  
The heavy tape peeled off the roll. Six inches; nine inches; twelve. Spike severed it with a small pocketknife, and wrapped one end around the stem of the pinwheel.  
_Zzzzzip._  
Overhead, the evening stars began to peek out from behind a curtain of high cirrus clouds. Orion, Taurus...all the unfamiliar constellations of Earth. The sky in the west blazed a furious bloody red.   
He placed another strip of tape down the length of the pinwheel, attaching it to the point on the prow of the Bebop.  
_Zzzzzip._  
A chilly evening wind stirred his unruly dark green hair. He paused and looked towards the distant horizon. _How did that song go, 'fare thee well', something something...?_  
_Zzzzzip._  
The pinwheel stood proud and straight, like a child playing a soldier. Another breeze pushed it gently through a single rotation. He took a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it, taking a long drag. With a whimsical smile, he blew the warm smoke into the pinwheel, sending it spinning again.  
_I wish I could remember that dumb song..._

*****

Jet slid awkwardly down and out of the Hammerhead's monopod hatch. He knew she'd seen his ship turn and land; he knew she heard him getting out and landing roughly on the ground, but she made no movement to acknowledge his presence.   
He began to walk forward, the crunch of the dirt and gravel beneath his heavy boots scraping the silent air.  
Faye lay on her side about thirty feet away, her back to him. As he stepped closer, his long shadow crept near her form. The shadow touched her hip. His footsteps slowed. He could see her shoulders rise and fall as she breathed.   
He took another step forward, and the dark arm of his shadow encircled her waist.  
  
"You landed on top of the plum trees," she said. After a pause: "I think you took out a rosebush, too."  
His brow furrowed in confusion. _Plum trees...?_  
Then he noticed the shapes carefully etched in the dirt. Then he noticed the dirty stick lying beside her body. Then he noticed that he was standing with his feet touching the remnants of a wall. His mouth felt dry.  
  
"You... you got your memory back," he stated. "Was... this was your house?"  
  
She lay still. He wanted to see her face. He dreaded seeing her face.   
"Faye." He stepped towards her.

"Don't bother," she mumbled, her voice cloudy. "There's nothing left to do."

The pit of his stomach grew cold and heavy. "Then," he began, "you should come back."  


*****

Faye blinked and bit her lower lip. Before her on the dusty ground, she saw the vague, ghostlike form of his shadow, fading quickly as the sun slipped below the horizon.   
"I didn't take any money this time, you know," she tested.

Jet's breath caught; his jaw tightened. "I know."

The wind swept over the crest of the hill, stirring dust into circles, lifting bits of Faye's deep black hair from her jaw. She swallowed silently, gazing firmly ahead. _There... there was a birthday party, and there was a bathtub, and there I skinned my knee, and there was a room filled with the scent of coffee, and now here... here behind me is a man who says "come back". _

_*****_

Jet took a deep breath, waiting for the hanging tension to evaporate.  
"Where's Edward?"   
  
"Back on the ship, I suppose." Faye didn't move.  
  
"She's gone."  
  
"Then... then she's gone to find where she belongs, I imagine. She's gone to find her father."  
  
_Her father..._ Those words stung more than he'd like to admit.

The wind blew past again, stronger and colder this time, shifting the hem of Jet's heavy canvas coat. Faye's shoulders shuddered with the chill, and she curled into a loose fetal position.   
The sun vanished, and with it the stark shadows that had dotted the ground. Faye no longer stood out from the earth in sharp relief; in fact, she appeared quite dark and small. Dreamlike. The world was tinted lavender-grey.   
Jet frowned at the taste of dust in his mouth, and tilted his head back to look at the rapidly multiplying stars overhead. The now-constant breeze was sharp and astringent against his face.   
He heard the slight shuffle of Faye's body shifting against the ground. When he looked down again, she was sitting upright, with her knees at her chest and her hands joined in front of her shins. Her eyes focused on some indeterminate point before her feet. She shivered again, and rubbed her arms together.

Jet sighed softly, and slid one arm, then the other, out of his coat. Taking the corduroy collar in both his hands, he bent and draped the coat over Faye's bare shoulders.   
She turned her face towards him, her wide emerald eyes at once penetrating and terrifyingly unguarded. He froze. A lifetime of memories, an alien and newfound completeness, confusion... swirling in pools of deep green... her eyes were so lost. Sympathy swelled within his chest, desperate to spill forth.  
  
_The last thing she wants is your pity. Haven't you learned anything?  
  
_He stood back upright, looking down at Faye's fair, luminous face.   
"Well," he breathed, "the choice is yours."

_*****  
  
_Faye inhaled sharply as Jet turned away and began to walk back to the Hammerhead. Scrambling to her feet, she watched the his silhouette retreat, her mouth working soundlessly, groping frantically for words. At last she shouted: "Jet."  
  
He stopped and turned to face her again.   
  
Faye drew his coat closer around her shoulders. It engulfed her, hanging past her knees, draping heavily across her slender frame. The fabric was still warm from his body, and his scent surrounded her. She took one step, then another, towards him, moving slowly as if testing the depth of unexplored water.   
She stopped directly before him, her face flushed. "I..." she began, then met his eyes. The pale, icy blue arrested her voice, and the two regarded each other for a silent moment, without masks; without barriers.   
  
Averting her eyes under the crushing weight of his empathy, she whispered, "...thank you."   
A strange sensation overtook her, as if she were choking on gratitude. No, more than gratitude; some new force welled up in her throat, spreading through her body. Without her control, her legs moved, stretching forwards and upwards, the motion of a bird about to take flight. The motion became a gesture.   
She leaned against him, leaned into him: placing her right hand lightly on his shoulder for balance, softly, carefully, she placed her lips against his left cheek.  
She let them linger there for perhaps a second; then descended to the ground again, her face aflame with the risk she'd taken. Now, hiding: she retreated into the depths of his coat to await the fallout.  
  
When she looked up again, his back was to her; he was halfway back to his ship.   
"You'll know... where to find us," he said, in a bass voice like warm amber.   
  
She swallowed once and nodded, watching him go. _Why can't I feel sad? I'm being left behind again. Why don't I panic?_  
  
_Because this is the man who said, "come back". _  
  
***** 

Reclining on the deck of the Bebop, Spike watched as the last rays of light died in the dark sky. Blue-grey smoke from his cigarette spun and wound around itself as it drifted upward and dissipated into the night. In the distance, he saw the Hammerhead's lights growing nearer. Hopping to his feet, he ground the butt of the spend cigarette under his heel and strode back indoors, whistling a soft, sad tune.  
_  
Fare thee well, my bright star, it was a brief brilliant miracle dive  
That which I looked up to and I clung to for dear life  
Had to burn itself up just to make itself alive  
I caught you in your moment of glory, your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage  
With a memory so clear it's as if you're still before me  
So fare thee well, my bright star  
This strange season of pain will come to pass  
When the healing hands of autumn cool me down..._

**To be continued in Chapter 3**

  
  



	3. Dreams of Immortality

**Turning Blues to Black  
by Now With More Fiber**

**Chapter 3: Dreams of Immortality**  
Note: Now we jump ahead to the end of the last episode. I really should have made this a separate fic, but it's part of the same storyline, so...  
  
*****

**---TWO WEEKS LATER---**

The funeral service consisted of a few hushed words that fell with the Martian rain. The grave itself was sparsely attended, but the perimeter of the cemetery was heavily guarded by low-ranking members of the Red Dragon mafia, each armed with considerably sized handguns. More than one of them seemed more mindful of the ceremony than his duty.   
The ashen-faced priest closed his holy book, bowed his head, turned, and began to shuffle away from the grave. Three men in long dark cloaks, high-collared and piped with gold, turned and left with him. Three more lingered a moment. One bent and hesitantly touched the headstone with his palm, then rose.  
The Red Dragons filed out in silence, the soft rain muffling the sound of their footsteps.

In an condemned, empty room above a nearby street, Bob lowered his binoculars, sighed, and rubbed his temples. *  
_Dammit Jet, do you find trouble or does trouble come to you?_  
He ran his hand down his face, wiping away the dampness left by the rain, straightening his thick moustache.  
_God, you always managed to get tangled up in crazy shit. And somehow you kept your head on straight and worked through it while the rest of the world went nuts. _He opened up his handheld communicator._ Hell, I at least owe you this.   
_"Jet," he spoke softly into the mic, "they're leaving now."  
There was a pause on the other end, then a deep baritone voice sounded through crackling static. "Thanks."  


*****

Faye awoke to a soft rumble and hiss. The ship creaked once, then was quiet again.   
"Jet?" she mumbled, rising from the yellow couch, rubbing her eyes. Her face felt hot and puffy. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but realized it must have been late afternoon.   
Stepping up into the bridge, she looked through the wide bank of circular windows and saw a small blue air taxicraft rise through the rain and fire its boosters, soaring away towards Tharsis City.  
She clenched her teeth.  
"DAMMIT! How could you -- why didn't you wake me?!" she shouted at the departing craft. It came out as more of a plea than a demand.  
Frustration and anger prickled at the edges of her eyes. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it, frowning. She smeared away a tear that had begun working a path down her left cheek.  
"Dammit," she whispered again, rushing back into the livingroom in search of Jet's communicator.

*****

The cab driver could tell that his customer was in no mood for small talk. Jet appreciated his observance.  
He sat with his chin on his palm, gazing out the small window over the dull rust-colored landscape. Heavy clouds swept over the taxi in rushes of grey and white, until at last the small craft dipped below the cloudline and passed into the outskirts of the large city.   
Small drops of rain patted the windshield and windows, forming random patterns and weaving their way downwards.   
"Excuse me, sir," the cabbie began timidly, "but did you want to go to the central yard, or...?"  
"All I know is, it's on a hillside on the edge of town," Jet responded without looking up.  
"Ah." The driver shifted in his seat. "Then..." without finishing his sentence, he banked left and began flying a low route over a side street. Less than a minute later, the craft's reverse and landing thrusters fired, and it began its gentle descent towards an open patch of street in front of an abandoned apartment building. The doors sighed as they opened, releasing pressurized air.   
"Did you want me to wait here, sir, or...?"  
"I don't know how long this'll be. Here. Keep the change." Jet reached into the pocket of his long coat, pulled out a 200 uron note, and placed it on the passenger seat. The driver gave him a wordless half-salute and lowered the taxi doors.

The instant he stepped out of the taxi, the rain seeped into him like sickness, the dampness penetrating his trenchcoat and suit. Tiny droplets gathered on the brim of his beige fedora and fell past his face to scatter on the sidewalk. The deep gunshot wound in his leg screamed in protest as he stood, even after he shifted his weight onto his cane.   
He drew the trenchcoat closer around his chest and pressed through the low iron gate at the edge of the graveyard. The hinges creaked and moaned; the sound made him wince.  
Stepping through shallow puddles down a narrow cobbled path, he began searching for something he never wanted to find. But there it was, almost immediately, defying him. And he drew closer, his feet leaden and seeming heavier with each step, the tip of his cane clicking against the stone, until at last he stood before a soft patch of earth.   
The rain pitted the dirt soundlessly. It smelled like spring.

The headstone was a simple marble slab, solid and straight and unmarked save for the Red Dragon crest. Jet clenched his jaw in a a brief moment of disgust, then swallowed.   
"Well, that was part of you too, I suppose," he said aloud.   
The rain's soft whisper was the only answer, pattering on his shoulders and the brim of his hat.  
The white marble sat before him, flat and defiant.  
Jet put his hands in his coat pockets.  
He noticed how the top curve of the headstone framed the dragon crest. The dragon's carved eye glared out from the stone balefully. _  
That thing doesn't suit him at all_, he thought, frowning and rubbing the back of his neck with his cybernetic hand. _But hell, what do I know._ He smiled softly.   
"You always were a bit of a mystery anyhow."  
He took a long, deep breath, and sighed.  
"Well." He coughed.   
" It sure was one hell of a wild ride, wasn't it, cowboy... we... we made a good team. You always grabbed the bull by the horns when I hesitated, you always rushed in when I waited... you ... you taught me a few things about taking chances, Spike. I wish I'd learned them earlier." He sighed again.   
"But you're you, and I'm... I'm an old man on an old ship... aww, listen to me, I'm just rambling...but..." He closed his eyes briefly.   
"...But there were so many things about you I never learned. Partners for three years, and I never felt I really knew you. Not completely. Were you hiding something, or hiding from something, or was it just part of who you were? I guess I'll never know." Something in his chest became tight and cold.   
"And if you'll pardon me for saying so, that's a goddamn shame."  
His hands balled into fists inside his pockets. "You never could really let the past stay buried, could you? Always had to trace back along your old scars, reopen old wounds... and now... now you're there... and I'm here. A crazy, lonely old man talking to himself in the rain.  
An old man in a big old heap of a ship, who's going to go home and wonder _was there anything I could have done_, and always come up with the same answers. And then he's going to wonder _what the hell do I do now_, and he's going to look to you and wonder what you would do..."  
Jet suddenly stopped, and broke into a broad, sad smile.  
"...and then he'll do the exact opposite, I bet."  
He knelt awkwardly and slowly, leaning on the cane for balance. Reaching out his right hand, he pressed his fingertips against the cold, wet marble.   
"Well, whatever this old man does, he won't forget you. None of us will. Me or Faye or Edward, or any of those people who met you. We..."  
He fell silent as he heard footsteps behind him.

*****

Faye had spotted him from the air, standing alone on the edge of the graveyard. The taxicraft had brought her as near as it could without disturbing him.  
And now, a few paces away, she cursed herself for being so dense, for daring to rush in and break the sanctity of a private moment. _God, I'm so self-centered, I didn't even think... _  
Despite her misgivings, she found herself drawn towards the broad-shouldered figure; to absorb and share in the sadness that weighed so visibly on his frame. As she stepped nearer, she heard the warm, deep tones of his voice, unintelligible murmurs mostly drowned by the rain. No. She was too close. She was interrupting. Jet was Spike's closest friend; she had no right to intrude.   
She had just turned away when his words fell dead in the air.   


*****

Jet slowly and painfully stood, turning to look down the path leading through the cemetery. There stood Faye, a large purple umbrella in one hand, a single white rose in the other. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, then shut as if she were afraid.   
It was an effort to raise his voice over the rain.   
"You don't have to wait. I'm about done anyhow."

*****

She took one step forward, hesitated, then began to walk towards Jet, towards the grave. Towards Spike's grave. Her heels clicked on the cobblestones. Jet's eyes followed her feet up the rough path. Rain slithered in rivulets down the fabric of the umbrella. Her throat felt tight and thick.   
She stopped at Jet's side.   
"I... I brought this," she mumbled weakly, proffering the white rose.  
Jet nodded.  
Faye leaned forward and gently placed the rose atop the headstone.   
Her fingers brushed the cool, slick marble - and suddenly, it was too real.  
_Not here not here not here. Don't cry here. Not now. Not now._ She shut her eyes as tightly as she could.  
  
Jet's voice finally cut through the darkness. "Faye... let's go."  
Her eyes opened slowly. She sniffled once, and swallowed. "Where to?"  
"Just... anywhere but this godforsaken planet."  
Faye nodded silently. Jet turned in front of her and began to make his way back out of the graveyard. Step. Cane. Step. She watched him for a moment, then turned back to the white stone, regarding it with a strange sense of familiarity.

"Goodbye," she whispered softly.

She caught up with Jet halfway down the path, and raised the umbrella above his head as he swung open the short iron gate.

**To be continued in Chapter 4**

*****Bob is Jet's ISSP pal and informant. He shows up in a few episodes.  
  
OK, I know this chapter was really sad, but I promise it's uphill from here, OK? Really! We just had to work through this part to get to the good stuff. :-)   



	4. Woke Up in the Middle of a Dream

**Turning Blues to Black  
by Now With More Fiber**

**Chapter 4: Woke Up In the Middle Of A Dream**  
  
*****

Repairs on the Bebop had taken longer than expected. Three days had passed before the ship could lift off, and another two before it was capable of passing through a jump gate unharmed. Jet had reluctantly called in a small repair crew after realizing how severely his injury (and Faye's lack of mechanical knowledge) was impeding his progress.  
The repairmen charged a hefty fee, but had labored tirelessly, and their work was as good as their word. Even the plates of the ship's outer hull were melded seamlessly back together.  
Perhaps the most unexpected part of the situation was Faye's determination to assist with the repairs, despite her inexperience. When the crew needed extra hands, she carried or lifted or pulled or pushed as she could. When they needed another tool, she brought it up the ladder or down the side of the ship. When there was no need for help, she studiously watched their working hands, and learned.   
When she couldn't watch, she walked. Back and forth, back and forth, before the windows of the bridge, kneading her fingers or fidgeting with her hair.   
Jet saw her more than once, pacing, as he limped by with his toolbox in tow. Without fail, she would hear his footsteps and turn quickly towards him, asking, "Is there anything I can do?"  
_She's either come down with a case of charitability, or she's stir crazy_, Jet thought. _Maybe both. Well, I'm desperate to get off this damned red rock too. Just wait a bit longer, Faye.  
  
_On the evening of the fifth day, the head crewman presented Jet with a lengthy itemized bill, gladly received his payment in cash, tapped his fingers to his hardhat, smiled, and walked back to his transport ship. The emptiness of the Bebop's safe did little to dampen Jet's sense of relief. _After all, what use is paper and credit when you're stranded?  
_"Thanks for the hard work," he said as the last man passed through the hatch door.  
One or two of the mechanics had surreptitiously let their eyes roam one last time over Faye as they departed.   
"And thank you for your business, sir. It was a pleasure working with you." The fellow shot him a quick wink. "And it was a pleasure having your lovely wife assist us."  
Jet's mouth fell open. "Wha--! Hey, wait! No, she's not--" but the door had already closed.  
"Idiot." Faye glared right through the sealed hatch door, looking like she had eaten a lemon.  
Jet merely blinked at her.  
Seeing his expression, she stifled a giggle and turned away. After a pause, she stretched her arms into the air and breathed, "free at last, free at last..." Looking back over her shoulder, she asked Jet, "so... where to now?"  
He put his hand to his chin. "Maybe we should just head towards Venus outside the gates. You know, take it easy for a while. Things can calm down a bit... it'll give us time to rest... time to think."  
Faye sighed. "No offense, Jet, but that's the _last_ thing I need."

*****  
  
The Bebop pressed its way through hyperspace, starlight bending and streaking in its wake. Inside its living room, the whine and hum of the dual engines was muted to a soft hiss.   
Faye sat on the yellow couch at the center of the room, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. She looked up wearily as Jet entered from the bridge.  
"Well, that's it... we're set," he said from the top of the short stairs.  
"Set for where?" she mumbled.  
Jet descended the stairs and walked over towards the short refrigerator, turning away from Faye. "Earth," he replied.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence. "I thought you said we were going to Venus." She turned her head towards him, only to see his back as he pushed the refrigerator away from the wall.  
"I changed my mind," he answered gruffly. "There aren't any worthwhile bounties out right now, so we might as well wait out the dry spell."  
"On that meteorite-ridden wreck of a planet?"  
Jet bristled. "Look, we're not--" He stopped, took a deep breath, and lowered his voice. "Faye..." he began, "I understand why you wouldn't want to go to back to Earth right now. But I promise you... I promise we're not going back to where we were before. Opposite end of the planet, in fact."   
When he stood and turned around, Faye noticed that he held in his right hand a large bottle of whiskey, about three-quarters full. She eyed it, and him, with unmasked apprehension. "What do you mean?"  
"I mean," he said, unscrewing the top from the whiskey bottle, "I'm finally going to go check out something I've always wanted to see." He placed the bottle on the table and walked towards the kitchen. Returning with one short glass in each hand, he asked, "did you ever read Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn in school?"  
"It wasn't exactly required reading in Singapore," Faye answered cautiously. "Why do you ask?"  
Jet smiled as if he were holding a secret behind his eyes. "Just curious." He poured two fingers of whiskey in one glass, two fingers in the other, and pushed one towards Faye.  
  
She stared down at it for a moment, then raised her eyes to meet his.  
"So. What now?"

"Now," he said, "we drink." Jet held his glass aloft. The ceiling lamp's light pierced through the amber whiskey and played in soft golden tones across his face. "To friends, gone but not forgotten."  
  
Faye brought her glass towards his. The soft _clink_ rang through the silent room.  
"Gone, but not forgotten," she whispered in response.

**To be continued in Chapter 5**  
  
NOTES:  
* Yes, I know it's technically "phase differential space", not "hyperspace", but whatever. The former is a mouthful. -_-  
* Yup, that's the bottle of whiskey Spike mentioned in "Wild Horses". I imagine Jet felt that this would be an appropriate time to use it.  



	5. Scared The World Was Too Much For Me

**Turning Blues to Black  
by Now With More Fiber **

**Chapter 5: Scared the World was Too Much for Me **

***** 

The whiskey bottle sat on the table, nearly empty, a silent witness through the past two hours.   
Faye and Jet rested opposite each other on the twin yellow sofas, their eyes downcast. The liquor had done very little, save increase their fatigue and the duration of the silence between their sentences.   
  
"How long?" she asked, for the second time.   
"A few more hours," he answered, instinctively knowing she referred to their time suspended between jump gates. "Good thing there's not much whiskey left; I'll have to do a manual landing when I wake up."   
In an effort to fill the emptiness of the following pause, he reached for the bottle again, pouring another half-inch into his glass. Almost as an afterthought, he tipped the bottle again and let the remaining whiskey fall into Faye's glass.   
She gazed at it disconsolately for a moment, then stood, wavering a bit.   
  
"I'll... Be right back," she mumbled, and walked towards the hallway door.   
Jet's eyes followed her as she went around him, followed the soft reflections of the ceiling light off her shorts and shimmery stockings. Even in this dulled state, the gentle curve of her calves and thighs drew his attention. His forehead throbbed.   
_I shouldn't. It shouldn't be like this. What if she notices?_   
Faye stumbled and steadied herself against the handrail on the short stairs.   
_So she didn't notice. But... _  
He turned back to the table, lifting the his drink to his lips with his right hand. It seemed heavier than ever before. The cool glass steamed where his skin touched it. He lifted his left hand and held the glass before his face, watching the light play in the amber liquid, run along the smooth insides of the glass.

Jet lowered his drink and looked at the bottle.   
The bottle sat on the table, empty.  
_The only thing he left behind._   
The bottle sat on the table, empty.   
_A solid object to hold a vanishing memory._  
The bottle sat on the table, empty.   
"Stop that," Jet whispered, averting his eyes. 

***** 

Faye stepped through the round doorway back into the livingroom. After blinking blearily once or twice, she noticed the strain evident on Jet's face. "What's up?"   
  
Jet looked up at her over his shoulder, the sharp angry points of his eyes softening.   
"Spike told me a story once..." he began.   
Faye rounded the stair railing, and sat down at the other end of the couch.   
"...a story about a tiger-striped cat who lived and died a million times before finally finding his peace." Jet sipped his whiskey, his eyes focused on some distant, uncertain point before him. A strange, sad smile touched the edges of his lips. "Sometimes... sometimes I wonder how many lives he had before this one... how many times he lived and died and turned into someone new..."   
He blinked and swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. When he lowered his glass, he found Faye's wide, green, glistening eyes pulling him back to the present. Sighing softly, he returned the cup to the table with a soft metallic _tap_.   
Faye was in the act of reaching for her own drink when he asked, "...and how many lives have _you_ had?" 

She froze.   
After a pause: "None that matter, really." 

"What are you talking about?" Jet blinked incredulously. "You finally found out who you are - your past is put to rest, and that's more than most people can ever say..." he swallowed. "Your whole life's ahead of you now, with a real identity. Aren't you excited about that?" 

She fixed him with a hard emerald stare. "I'm tired." The words prickled on her tongue. "I'm tired of changing identities. I'm tired of changing places. I'm fucking tired of change." Her throat tightened. "So I'm starting over _AGAIN_. Big deal. What good is a new boat if you're the only one sailing it?"   
She lifted her glass to her lips, and spoke softly into it with a voice like dust:   
"I'd rather be dead than alone." 

Jet whirled to her, gripping her shoulders fiercely. Faye's glass fell from her hand, splashing whiskey onto his left leg, onto the floor. The icy crash of the shattering glass was buried by his shouts.   
"Dammit, don't you _DARE_ say that, Faye!" His deep, thorny voice tore the curtain of silence between them. "Haven't you learned _anything_?!" 

He saw her wince under his hard grip. _Oh, God... _  
Awkwardly loosening his hold, he whispered, "I... I'm... " 

Faye bit her lower lip. 

Jet took a deep, ragged breath, and began speaking again.   
"It's just that... as long as you're alive, you have the chance to set things right; to live the way you want. And unlike him, I know you're not too bullheaded to believe it." 

Faye sat silently for so long that Jet began to wonder if she had even heard him, or if he had even said a word at all. At last, her lips parted in a soft sigh, and she spoke.   
"Jet... every time I think I've finally gotten my life together, it's all fallen to pieces.   
"When I was back on Earth, I was so excited about going away to college and starting a new life there... and the next thing I knew, my life, my family, everything I knew was obliterated in an accident.   
"When I woke from cold sleep, I made what I thought was my first friend. I thought Whitney would take care of me... but he was just a scam and a lie like everything else.   
"I thought I'd finally found my home back on Earth, but it vanished, so I looked for home here on the Bebop... and ... and I arrived just in time to see that fall apart too." She rubbed her forehead, her elbows on her knees. Her silky black hair shielded her face from his sight.   
"Whenever it looks like I've finally found my place -- a place where I belong -- it evaporates into thin air, like waking up from a dream." 

Jet leaned forward in his seat and turned towards her. "Maybe you should look to reality for what you want, instead of chasing after a dream." 

Something small fell behind her hands. Two small, dark, wet spots suddenly appeared on Faye's knee.   
"I said I'm tired of it, Jet," she whispered. "I'm tired of reality... of the way things are. Home is the dream. Reality is everyone walking out on you and leaving you alone." 

"Is it?" he asked, more a statement than a question. He laid his cybernetic hand gently across her small shoulder. Perhaps the liquor had made him brave; perhaps it was just the thing he should do. He couldn't say for sure. "You know, Faye... I'm still here." 

_He can't be mocking me - not now._ She looked sideways at him through the thin curtain of her hair, her red-rimmed eyes burning and wet. The sincerity etched in Jet's face made something in her chest swell and ache. 

She didn't know when the dam had broken; only that suddenly, her face was very wet, her eyes and cheeks hot, her shoulders and chest shaking - and that she was enveloped in rough, strong warmth. 

"I'm still here, Faye," he said again, his deep voice rumbling against her ears. "I'm still here." 


	6. Washing of the Water

**Turning Blues to Black  
by Now With More Fiber   
  
Chapter 6: Washing of the Water **

***** 

Faye woke to the sound of creaking metal, thrumming engines, and clattering glass. The empty whiskey bottle hopped across the low table, accompanied by two dirty glasses.   
Her first thought was: _Shit! An asteroid field? Pirates? _  
Her second was: _No, landing on Earth._   
Which was worse, she couldn't say.   
Steadying herself against the arm of the couch, she rose to stand. The vibration of the ship did nothing to help her aching skull. Edging gradually through the ship, she made her way step by step to the bridge, where Jet sat at the controls.   
Through the bank of large windows in front of him, all she could see was a throbbing orange glow, steadily growing dimmer. He hadn't heard her approach.  
"Jet," she said , her voice faint against the roar of the engines and her own hangover.   
He spared a brief glance over his shoulder. "I didn't know you'd gotten up," he mumbled, turning back to the panel before him. "You might want to brace yourself; this is going to be a bit of a bumpy ride."   
"I hadn't noticed," Faye retorted, her fingers clenched around the back of a chair. The ship roared and rumbled, and she had to shout, "Just where are you taking us, anyway?!"  
Before Jet could answer, the hull of the Bebop pierced a layer of clouds, parting them in a rush. 

And there, spread out wide in the setting sun, like a banquet table beneath the descending ship, was the Mississippi Delta.

***** 

_River, show me how to float, I feel like I'm sinking down   
Thought that I could get along, but here in this water my feet won't touch the ground   
I need something to turn myself around_

*****

The sun had already slipped past the horizon by the time the Bebop made its slightly awkward water landing. Engines hummed softly now as the ship pressed upriver at a glacial pace.   
"I never thought it would be this big," Jet marveled, standing hesitantly up from the control panel after keying in a final command. "I always kind of pictured... I don't know, a shaded, narrow little thing. Shows what I know, huh."   
Faye didn't answer. 

Soft purple dusk-light poured in through the windows like smoke, giving the bridge an eerie, haunted look with its glowing control displays. The light reflected dimly off Jet's metallic left arm, the plate covering his cheekbone, and the liquid blue of his eyes.   
_He seems so ..._ Faye couldn't place any words in her mind. _Is it possible for someone grown that tough to still feel wonder?_ The question stirred uneasily in her mind.   
  
"Are you going to come out?" he asked as he passed, his shoulders stooping in time with his crutch step.   
"I... In a minute," Faye answered.  
Jet noticed that she refused to meet his eyes. _Is she angry with me or something for bringing us to Earth?_ He sighed. _Come on, old man, you know that's not it. _

*****

_River deep, can you lift up and carry me   
Oh, roll on though the heartland 'til the sun has left the sky  
River, river, carry me high 'til the washing of the water makes it all alright   
Let your waters reach me like she reached me tonight_

_*****THE PREVIOUS NIGHT***** _

After what seemed an eternity, Faye became very quiet, her head heavy on his chest. The dampness from her tears penetrated his shirt, prickling against his skin.   
He knew she wasn't asleep - he could feel the rhythm of her breath; he could feel her eyelashes brush against his wet shirt as she blinked away the remnants of her tears.   
"Faye..." he began, "I'm only going to ask this once. But I want an answer."  
She spoke no words in response, but pulled away from his arms and sat up again on the couch.  
  
"Did you love him?"

There was a long and uncomfortable silence.  
She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, her face still hidden by the screen of deep indigo hair.  
  
"Faye."  
She cringed. "Hang on. .... I... I'm trying to think of a way to describe it... that doesn't sound incestuous."  
Confusion, grief, relief, sadness, and envy washed over Jet, melding together in a bittersweet pang that left him with no option but to laugh softly.  
Faye's eyes flashed fire. "It's NOT FUNNY!" She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, and coughed. "I... he... I was lonely, and he was handsome, and something happened once, but it didn't happen after that, and that was the end. Okay?"  
The sound of her ragged breath stilled. Her hair hung straight and motionless.   
Flatly, emotionlessly, she whispered: "You knew about it. All this time, you knew."  
Jet swallowed. "I--"  
"I don't suppose it makes any difference now. No point in being mad..."  
"He didn't tell me about it, if that's what you're thinking."  


Faye sighed. "You must have a strange idea of what love is, Jet."  
His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"  
"If you think Spike and I... what I mean is..." She dabbed at her eyes again. "I've always kind of thought that love was something like puzzle pieces coming together - like people are different pieces in a huge puzzle... No two pieces fit perfectly, but you get a workable match sometimes.  
"Me and Spike... I think we were pieces with the same shape. We could recognize each other, but there was no way to really fit together. We were too ... similar, I guess. Or too alike in some ways, and too different in others."  
Jet leaned back against the arm of the couch, and mused: "...or maybe he was just a stray piece from another puzzle entirely."  


*****

_Letting go, it's so hard   
The way it's hurting now to get this love untied   
So tough to stay with this thing   
'Cause if I follow through I face what I denied   
I get those hooks out of me, and I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side   
Kill that fear of emptiness, the loneliness I hide_

_*****BACK ON EARTH*****_

A yellow swath of light fell across the outer landing deck of the Bebop as the outer door opened behind Jet. His mind followed the soft, slow tap of Faye's footsteps as she crossed the deck to stand at the side, watching moss-laden oaks drift past in the light evening fog.  
Unprompted, he spoke.  
"You know... I've never seen a real river before. I grew up among the seas and islands on Ganymede... there were so-called 'rivers' on Mars, but those were just thawed ice floes or man-made irrigation canals."  
Faye didn't answer.  
"When I was a boy, I read some of Mark Twain's books... Ever since then, I had dreams about floating down a wide river, like Huck and Jim did." He stood, brushing nonexistent dust from the pants legs of his jumpsuit. "Well, this is no raft, and Earth is nothing like in the old books, but... it's about the same, isn't it. Two misfits, drifting down the Mississippi River..."   
He looked to his left, and saw Faye gazing at him curiously in the dim blue light.  
"You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" he asked, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth.  
"Not a clue."  
  
He walked over to the edge of the deck to share her view.  


_*****_

_River, oh river, river running deep   
Bring me something that will let me get to sleep   
In the washing of the water will you take it all away?  
Bring me something to take this pain away..._

***** 

The two misfit cowboys stood on the left edge of the Bebop's landing deck, watching the land go by lazily in the humid night. Here and there along the shore, the river's muddy water swirled in pools recently left by meteors. Some felled trees lay across the riverbank like ash-colored bones, but more stretched their gnarled arms towards the water, draped in Spanish moss as thick and curly as an old man's beard.  
When Jet had first stepped outside, the world had seemed completely silent. But now, the night was a soft cacophony of ambient sounds - frogs and insects croaking and creaking along the riverbanks, the groans of ancient trees in the soft wind, the water lapping against the ship's prow, here and there an unidentified splash.   
  
"He would have liked this," Jet said softly, his rich, warm voice hanging in the thick night air like honey.  
Faye smiled, gazing down into the water along the side of the ship.

"You know, it's funny..." she began, "I lived on Earth for so long, and there's so much about it I never knew. So many things I never saw. It feels like... like someone I've known for ages is just now showing me this entirely different side of themselves... all this beauty that I never knew was there before. You know what I mean?"

One arm. His right arm, his flesh-and-blood-and-bone arm. He slid it in between Faye's own right arm and her waist. "I think so."

The back of her head, now resting against his collarbone. The soft tickle of her hair against his neck and chest. "Or maybe I'm just crazy to talk like that." 

Smooth, cool metal against her left side. His mechanical hand met his human hand, and they linked together as if reaching a compromise between hardness and vulnerability, resting against Faye's skin. "No, I understand perfectly." She rested her hand atop the cool bronze surface of his left forearm.   


He began by placing the first kiss just behind her jaw, at the top of her neck. Faye closed her eyes and listened closely to the mingling of Jet's soft breath against her skin, and the whispers of the wide and mighty river. 

**THE END**

  
* This is my last CB fanfic. I hope you've enjoyed my stories. ::bow:: 


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